


Harmonious Crescendo

by Shipper101



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Evil Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, F/F, Halloween, Possessed Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 05:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21094313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipper101/pseuds/Shipper101
Summary: Fareeha is dead, overrun by nano-surgeons in a misguided attempt to save her. Now, decades later, Angela Ziegler finally has all of the pieces necessary to return her from the grave. All she needs, is power. And there is plenty of that in Adlersbrunn...Basically, this is a sort of fan continuation of Argonautical's excellent fic Discordant Symphony (https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278031), with a slightly happier ending, written because I truly do not believe there are anywhere near enough Halloween Terror fics





	Harmonious Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Discordant Symphony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278031) by [Argonautical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argonautical/pseuds/Argonautical). 

It was time. The spire was dark, shadows looming in the corners of the dank rooms, the eclectic mix of timber, stone and plasticised ceramic forming a curious patchwork effect up the tower, the oil lamps casting a dirty yellow glow about the ominous room. The doctor was obvious enough- his cackling could be heard throughout the spire, the sickly glowing of his laboratory visible through the doors that stood in their way. The mountain of muscle and paunch that lay atop his table smelled- it stank, to be truthful- but if the stench was all that had to be suffered for her mission to be over, Angela Ziegler would suffer it in silence. Striding through the darkened hallways towards the laboratory, the spectre and the flesh puppet fell in step behind her. Soon. Soon it would all be over. Her artifice would be corrected. Her mission would be complete. Twenty-nine years. Nearly three decades of viciousness and suffering, of frenzied, desperate searching.

As the world collapsed, as society died, she had searched. As technology became magic, and the arcane and the mechanical became one, she delved into ancient troves of knowledge, broadening her understanding, deepening her perception. And so, it was that even now she could feel her servants. Or, to be more accurate, she could feel the swarms of nano-surgeons swarming within them. Her ‘power’, as the local troglodytes referred to them. And now, she was almost ready. The good doctor would provide the penultimate step. His desperation to restore his lost friend, it must be said, struck something of a chord. His quest, in so, so many ways mirrored hers. A desperate, fevered hunt for knowledge, to achieve the impossible. A desperate quest that had, sadly, fallen short.

That was, until their paths at last crossed. A mad, desperate man, and a hurting, hating immortal, both holding a piece of what the other wanted. So, she gave it to him. The locket now sat at the heart of the… thing, that lay atop his table. The storm was close, and as she entered his lab she watched the doctor as he furiously dashed between his instruments, double and triple checking everything and arranging it all in preparation. Stopping dead, she could feel her possessed flesh puppet and the Reaper stop with her.

“Are we prepared, doktor? We have only very limited time. The beasts have been prepared, and Satya awaits us at Adlersbrunn. This storm will last only three days. May we begin.”

The doctor turned around, glaring at her for a moment, before nodding.

“Mako is all ready, every system lined up and put together as needed. Your capsule is suited and linked in. All we need now is a little jolt to make it go again.”

Turning to the creature lying lifeless on the table, he leaned down, to its ear, and whispered.

“Don’t you worry now, partner, we’ll have you up and kicking in no time.”

Nodding in response to his assertions, Angela turned to the Reaper. The white masked, black clad man seemed to flicker into and out of corporeality- another sad, sad casualty of her earlier mistakes. Unfortunately for her, unlike the puppet to his right, the mind of the original man still held some degree of sway, the enhancements in his body fighting her technology furiously. Not enough to free him of their cursed bite, but enough to render him merely suggestible to her, rather than completely slaved to her will.

A shame, to be sure; while her beloved had fought her taint off for decades with nought but her will, the man before her barely kept them at bay, even with his own biology aiding him, and yet he forced her to make a deal with him, while Fareeha remained trapped in a cage, exorcised from her own flesh almost thirty years ago and stored for safekeeping, waiting for Mercy to save her. And soon. Soon she would be able to.

“Go to Adlersbrunn. Let Satya know it’s time to begin. From what I hear, the lord has hired quite a few of our old… colleagues, to aid him against us. Aid Satya’s forces, and make certain you have the hunter’s full attention on us.”

The Reaper nodded, and then, in a whirlwind of black smoke, the abomination of technology and biology that was once Gabriel Reyes disappeared from sight. Angela sighed, before turning to her other servant. Stepping closer to the washed out, soulless puppet, she reached up, caressing her cheek gently. Even on the contact, she could feel the surgeons within her corrupted lovers flesh lash out and tug upon the meat of her hand, her own devices holding them at bay. The corpse’s eyes glowed a sickly yellow, with black veins running below her ashen complexion, all colour in her flesh gone, leeched out by the rapacious devices that long ago overran her bloodstream and infested every inch of her flesh. Pressing her forehead to her Possessed, she held their heads together with one hand, while the other clutched at her own locket. Clutched at her lover’s soul.

“Soon, my love. Soon.”

Looking back up at the doctor, she saw him looking at them. Sympathy shone within his eyes. Hot anger burned through her.

“If we are ready doktor, let us begin. NOW.”

His previous expression gone now, he rapidly replaced it with a sneer.

“Very well.”

Reaching over to the switch, he pulled it down. Immediately, the entire tower rumbled. The mass of copper wiring leading up the walls seemed to shift, and the ceiling of the laboratory began to rotate. While it was hidden from her sight, Mercy knew what was occurring. As the immense copper lightning rod rose into the storm wreathed skies, the rest of the tower roof formed into an immense arc storage unit, attracting immense charge from the storm clouds, guiding the power to the spire. Months of work. Two spent searching for that much copper. Two more working it into shape. One month spent assembling it. Now, all heading to a massive, fruitful conclusion.

The air itself seemed to grow in power, and Mercy could almost feel the focus of the storm shifting, gathering around the spire. While the scientist within her would never admit to it, she could see the connection made by the poorly educated pedants of the local villages when they decried her as a witch and accused her of magic. Letting out a sigh, she seated herself on a large wooden chair prepared for such an occasion. So much lost in merely fifty years. When she had been a young woman, the idea that villages of educated people, living less than a day’s walk from Stuttgart would ever believe in such a thing as magic would have been seen as insanity. Yet, here they were.

Then again, when she was a young woman, cars floated, aircraft flew, and Overwatch stood against the threats of the Omnics and Talon.

And then, at last, the entire spire thrummed with power, as finally lightning struck. Pure, raw power raced down the mass of copper wiring, and a massive web of arcing lightning scored across the harness the good doctor had assembled around his creation. Angela could feel the raw electricity striking against the flesh of the man once known as Mako Rutledge. The devices in her gift sparked to life, and, finding a mass of necrotic tissue, went straight to work. Now, now as the challenging part. The crude artificial ghost the doctor had created of his friend, using low grade technology and vastly inadequate computing power, intermixed with the nano-surgeons. Their work slowed, as the low level programming in them ran a series of checks and scans on the intruder, before, finally, the power of the lightning and the completion of their checks drove them into high gear. Resuming their previous work, they also proceeded to reconstruct the Junker’s brain, reconstituting its neural passageways. Angela could feel their errors, could sense their mistakes as they made them, the crude nature of Mako’s ghost taking its toll as they prepared its housing.

70%. 75%. 81%. 90%. 99%.

“Reconstitution completed.”

Mercy’s mouth moved of its own accord, and the Doctor looked over at her, as surprised as she was by her statement. Meeting his gaze, she nodded at the corpse before him, now looking substantially less corpse like. Looking down at it, the doctor was met with two open, seeing eyes. The Creature rose from the table, sitting up, and swung its legs off, its feet touching the floor. Raising its hand to its face, it looked at its new flesh. Despite the nano-surgeons best work, it still possessed a light greenish stain across its skin- something only time would cure- but now it could see. And it could feel. Rising from the table, it swung its arms wide, and roared to the ceiling.

Mercy smiled.

“Well now, Doktor. I do believe it is time we get to Adlersbrunn. Wouldn’t want to miss out on your repayment, would we.”

###

Jack rolled forwards, narrowly avoiding an Omnic’s clawed arm, before bringing his rifle up and pulling the trigger. The Omnic collapsed to the flagstones, joining the veritable scrapheap of tainted, corrupted Omnics. Around him, his compatriots were all faring much the same. The flashes of blue light that signalled the now untethered Lena Oxton raced around the courtyard, her two pistols pouring fire into the advancing metal puppets. The black and white form of the repainted Zenyatta floated at the entrance, waves of remedial energy flowing from his form to all in the vicinity, while Shimada seemed to flow through the attacking hordes, his once pristine and proud armour scorched a dark grey, and covered in fabric as far as possible. In place of his once noble helm, now instead he disguised his horrifically scarred face behind a monstrous demonic mask, his bone white hair hidden by a shroud that hung down low over his back. His sword carved clean through everyone in his path, the immense dragon summons whirling around him.

The door was holding. The Watchers were holding. It seemed wrong. But, then again, everything seemed wrong these days. Jack could remember a time when Genji looked less than half his age. When he would train with Brigette, rather than be commanded by her son, and trying to protect her grandchildren. One final gift from SEP, he supposed. He understood so… so very much more now. His blood had cooled. He understood so many of his old teammates. He had watched as Lena had deteriorated. Without any replacements, after the great crisis, her anchor had just slowed. Not stopped. Never stopped. Merely slowed and failed, slowly but surely. Even as her unique biology betrayed her, reality also set in. Her curse detached her from entropy. Her ties to the world disappeared one by one. Now, it was only this, her team, and a handful of their other associates that she could truly call friends any longer. She still put on a cheerful smile, but Jack knew. And he resolved to always be there for her. And he knew that made her happier. Because, both of them knew that the other understood. The pair of them, Zenyatta and possibly the widow were the only ones that could. Time was the enemy, but for Tracer, there was no escape.

Even as he thought, his rifle carved through omnic after omnic. Their ravaged bodies a nightmarish representation of the dark insanity that lurked in their minds. Yet, for all their dark appearance and the savagery their insanity created, there was nothing they could do against the precision and firepower of the Watchers. So, what was their commander doing? The beast had been seen in the outskirts of the town a few times, but Lord Lindholm was adamant that the draconic being was merely the vanguard. That only by allowing her assault to begin could they find and destroy the actual source of the attack.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the fight lulled. Then, all was darkness. A massive storm of black smoke roared through the courtyard, even as the thunder crashed far, far, far too close. The wind picked up and the smoke billowed, revealing a mask Jack had honestly hoped to never see again. The white skull seemed to shine in the darkness, then it sparked blue as it reflected the sparks of Jack’s rifle lighting up the dark. Just as quickly as he appeared, the Reaper disappeared into smoke, the pulse rounds hammering holes in nothing. Sensing movement behind him, Jack leaped forwards into a roll, as a shotgun blast tore open the cobblestones. Twisting on the ground, he loosed a few shots at the Reaper, who twirled around his line of fire before levelling a shotgun at Jack’s prone form.

Before he could pull the trigger, a small sphere crashed into the shotgun barrel, knocking it from his hand. Looking up, the Reaper’s black eye sockets met the glowing green eyes of the Shambali monk. Reaching into his coat, Reaper withdrew another shotgun, aiming it at Zenyatta. This time, however, it was his body that was torn into, as pulse pistols and rifle tore through his ephemeral form, rounding back to his first adversaries, he was just in time to receive a powered-up shoulder barge from a high velocity Tracer. Stumbling backwards, he snarled, hefting his firearm at the temporal ghost, only for a charged blade to sever his arm at the elbow. Shrieking, the Reaper dissolved into mist, even as Genji stuck the landing, turning it into a precise forward roll.

As the Reaper reformed, he was surrounded by angry, red, glowing energy. Jack leaped to his feet, and lunged at Lena, carrying them both to the ground. Rolling behind a stone column, he pulled Lena around with him just in time for Reaper to blast the whole area with a storm of red blasts. Genji stood before Zenyatta, his blade flashing in a blur as blast after blast deflected from its edge. The monk himself, meanwhile, appeared to be concentrating hard. Even as his former student deflected blast after blast, the spheres that normally surrounded Zenyatta’s neck began to spin slowly in a circle around his back, growing faster and faster.

Then he let them loose.

The Reaper, still distracted by the effort required to maintain his storm of fire, absolutely did not see it coming. He did, however, feel it. The spheres ripped through his body, tearing his form into giblets that then dissipated into thin black mist.

A deathly quiet fell over the battlefield, the tide of Omnics somewhat thinned by the Reaper’s own storm of fire. Jack pulled himself up from behind the column, even as Lena rushed over to Genji, whose armour had been slightly damaged by spectre’s attack.

“Looks like we finished the first wave.”

Lena glared at him, her blank white eyes and pale blue flesh rendering her expression devoid of the intent it was likely supposed to express. A sentiment that was, however, unnecessary, as an immense orange wall of hard light rose across the battlefield. The draconic summoners stood atop the battlements of the fort, even as a massive swarm of omnics emerged from the doors and windows.

“I am sorry, Watchers, but your task is not yet done for tonight.”

###

Not changing the guard rotations after firing your head technician was rarely a good plan. Even as the generator sparked and roared with power, maintaining the frustrating shield around the fortress, the four dark ones slipped through the corridors unimpeded and unnoticed. Even with a seven foot tall mountain of muscle, nobody was around to witness their passage, all to focussed on Satya’s onslaught upon the front gate.

She was a fine piece of work. She had crawled to Angela deep in a forgotten Vishkar facility in Kashmir, her technological arm damaged and without any means to repair it, begging for help. And a deal had been made. Satya most certainly disapproved of some of the alterations made (horns, really?), but a quick visit to Mercy’s treasure trove had somewhat settled her discomfort. And what a help a fully prepared and trained hard light practitioner had been. Despite her general apathy, the idea that after tonight everyone would get what they wanted made her feel somewhat happy inside.

Mercy’s though process was cut off when the Creature shoved her to the side, just in time for a high-powered rifle round to impact into his belly, directly behind her previous position. Looking across the room, she saw the blue skin, and snarled. As much use as she was to get Satya on side, Mercy sometimes regretted not just tearing Sombra apart. The Widowmaker was an endless annoyance, and that was before Mercy realised that, in the process of completely failing to efficiently create an assassin, the butchers at Talon had somehow made her immortal in the process.

The blue woman had to duck behind a pillar as the return fire from the Possessed ripped through he air, and Mercy summoned the nano-surgeons available to her, healing up the wound in the Creature. The door at the far end of the room, however, was not content to give her the time she needed, and exploded open, to reveal Captain Brigette Lindholm II and none other than Emily D’eorain. While she was old, her aunt’s twisted work ensured Emily was still more than capable of using that unpleasantly large dart rifle in her hands, her white hair hidden beneath a blue-black hood, her freckled face tanned from her time under the French sun.

Gesturing, the Doctor and the Creature moved forwards, the doctor spewing grenades towards the pair in the doorway, while the Creature advanced to close the distance- it evidently fancied a fight with Lord Lindholm’s sister, and it seemed she agreed, as she activated her shield and moved forwards, maul at the ready.

Mercy, meanwhile, stormed towards the generator, the Possessed following her, firing on Widowmaker and holding her at bay in the process. Kneeling behind the massive piece of archaotech, she started working immediately. The Possessed stood still, rifle kicking into its shoulder as it sent accurate but unimaginative volleys towards, he blue woman, her elegant long coat torn in several places by shards of stone. Looking over, Mercy could see the Creature and Captain Lindholm engaged in fast, brutal combat, with the Creature merely shrugging off attacks even as it couldn’t connect with the Captain behind her shield. The Doctor, meanwhile, was evidently having fun chasing Emily away with volleys of grenades, but the old woman moved fast enough to avoid the explosions, and while she had yet to have a chance to fire, Mercy just knew that it would only be a matter of time before Junkenstein would screw up.

She needed more people. She needed more time.

Summoning a small bulb of light in her hand, it flew away to carry its message to her remaining allies. Looking up at the Possessed, she rose to her feet, before reaching around her neck and retrieving the locket. Hanging it gently around Fareeha’s neck, she leaned in, placing a chaste kiss to the lips of her beloved. Turning, she threw the switch.

The generator dimmed, as massive arcing bolts of electricity were drawn from it and travelled along the cables to Fareeha’s corpse like form. And then the Locket was activated. The nano-surgeons within her flesh fought the sentience of the locket, the massive power of the generator requiring constant attention form the surgeons within her body, dividing their attention, preventing a repeat of the last time.

Then a shadow fell over Angela. Turning, she looked up. Torbjorn Lindholm, Lord of Adlersbrunn, loomed over her, his immense suit of crusader armour granting him impressive bulk and a truly menacing presence. Raising his hammer, Mercy raised her arms. However, it appeared her end was not to come today. The Lord was suddenly dragged backwards, towards where Angela could see the Creature, pulling in the chain attached to its hook. It was clear, though, that this action cost the beast. Its side was heavily bloodied, its face was mangled. The captain had taken advantage of its distraction to cave in one of its shoulders with her maul, while Lord Lindholm himself was able to steady himself and close in on the beast.

There weren’t enough allies. While Satya could only get here in her own time, owing to the selection of her old allies that sought to block her path, but another could. Focussing on the grim bastard, dark smoke began to swirl across the room. As the Reaper materialised, he looked around, before catching sight of the Widowmaker. Snarling he made to move towards the blue woman, only to be caught mid stride by a speeding mass of a man.

Jack Morrison.

And Gabriel Reyes.

Well, damn. Of course, the two of them would be here at the same time. Mercy let out a sigh, before turning back to Fareeha. Checking her readout, she almost snarled. 44%. IT WAS SO SLOW. She knew this beforehand, there was no way to quickly undo the amount of corruption inflicted upon Fareeha’s body by the nano surgeons in fifty years, but that was before everybody she ever knew in the entire word decided that Adlersbrunn today would be the perfect place for a damned reunion party.

This was the point at which she decided maybe it was just a better plan to keep her head down. While she was sure she could hold her own reasonably well- fifty years of improving on your own physicality would do that- the only priority here was Fareeha. Instead, she selected to increase the power drain. The generator sparked, and the feed to the shield faded. Across Adlersbrunn the shield protecting the town from the ravaging tides of unbound omnics faded. Mercy was sure that Satya would appreciate the additional manpower.

Hearing a snarl, she turned just in time to see Lord Lindholm racing towards her, the jets at the back of his armour burning at full power, as he smashed her into the solid stone wall behind her. Leaping back, he raised his hammer. However, Angela rushed forwards, slamming her fists into his armoured torso, the full power of her biotic enhancements powering the strike. Lord Lindholm flew backwards, and, the immediate threat neutralised, Mercy could take stock.

Junkenstein and his creature were both lying on the ground, their bodies sundered by the firepower of the defenders. Reaper was still fighting, but his form was badly damaged, and he would not be able to sustain much more. Fareeha currently stood at 61% rewrite and reconstruction, and would not be moving for a few more minutes, even with the power boost. Sighing, she altered the generator drain- 100% of its output now flowed directly to Fareeha- before she hefted her staff. Walking forwards, she planted it onto the ground, and raised her hand.

“My Servants Never DIE!”

A wave of purple energy washed across the room. Reaper’s wounds sealed, Jack Morrisons furious assault being stopped as his adversary fought back harder, and faster. The Creature, lying on the floor, rose up with vicious speed, its hook embedding itself in Captain Lindholm’s side, before it threw her away, a trail of crimson leading to her crumpled form, her armour sundered and her flesh torn. Emily found a grenade at her feet. Looking up, she saw the Doctor smiling at her from the ground, and waving at her. Looking at his hand, a pin was obvious, twirling around his finger. Throwing herself to the side, the blast from the grenade caused her to land badly, with a very audible snap.

As her allies regained themselves, Angela turned her attention back to her readout. 88%. Almost there. Then, she felt pain. The round tore through her skull, spattering brain matter against the wall. And DAMMIT it hurt. Turning on the spot, she glared at Widowmaker. The blue woman looked almost sheepish; eyes wide. Oh, wait, that was surprise. Surprise that her target, who was missing a large part of the interior of her head, was not only still standing, but seemed effectively unimpeded.

Angela blurred forwards, crossing the thirty yards or so between them in a flash of golden wings, and grasped the blue skinned sniper by the throat. Slamming her into the wall, she reached down, hefting her legs up into the air, before slamming her spine first onto her bended knee. Widowmaker howled, and Angela smiled with sadistic glee as the sickening crack sounded across the room. Once, this would have hardly been a problem. Now, though? Now, there was no way to fix it. Few enough ways to mitigate it. An eternity of life, without any feeling or movement in the lower half of her body. Angela delighted in the irony, even as her skull finally finished reconstituting itself.

A Bing sounded from her arm. Looking down, she saw it. 100%. Snapping her fingers, the world transformed into light.

###

1

Satya was not happy about how the attack had proceeded. The three remaining watchers were annoyingly stubborn, and, what was more, they were more than effective at holding back the horde of omnics, even with the reinforcements from beyond the collapsed shield. She could tell something had changed, however.

The first sign of it was when the Doctor stumbled out of a side exit, shuffling along the battlements towards escape, a small, silver charm clutched in his hand. He seemed to be talking to himself. The second was the billowing smoke from the castle- evidently the Reaper had been felled a second time, and by the feel of it, there would be no resurrections for him this time. The Witch was far gone, and evidently had not intended to pay that cost. It really should have been obvious to the spectre that the Angel had no intention of ever paying his price, but evidently, he had deluded himself just that bit too far.

Nevertheless, if the Witch and her other allies were now gone, it was high time she beat a retreat. Striding elegantly over to the doctor, she grabbed his lapel. Looking at her, eyes wide, he flinched, but she just pulled him in close to her and activated her teleporter. Blue light shone over the both of them, and then they re-appeared in the Witch’s retreat. The smooth, blackened concrete was lit warmly by well stocked oil lamps, and the wooden texture panelling lent the whole place a rather homely atmosphere.

And there they were. Coiled around one another, the Witch and her lover. Her skin was till ashen, her veins still black, her eyes still yellow, but now her movements were sloppy and imprecise, yet vibrant with life and spirit that had simply not been present in the flesh puppet. Their foreheads were touching and their bodies intertwined. Satya almost didn’t want to interrupt. But then she remembered what she was doing this for.

“Dr Ziegler. I believe you have something of mine.”

Without even looking, the witch threw her a small key. Smiling, the Summoner turned. Ignoring a wistful Dr Junkenstein, ignoring the décor. Ignoring the lights and flying down the steps. Closer and closer. And there it was. The black metal container, the small viewport showing HER. Her skin now blue from exposure to the process without preparation, her hair frosted with ice crystals but its purple colour showing through.

Soon, the inhabitant of the cryo pod woke up.

“Saty… is that you?”

Satya smiled and leaned over her lover. Thirty five years, and it all seemed to end in a moment.

“Yes. Welcome back, Olivia.”

2

The gentle lapping of the lake on the shore in the wind. The sun beaming down. The gentle breeze. This was what they needed. Lena could barely stop herself from making some form of joke, but even she knew that would be cruel. It had taken long enough to get Amelie out of her funk already. And now, here they were. An obviously elderly woman, a blue cripple, and a ghost, sitting on the private beach of Chateau Guilliard. The cries of children from the public beach next door made her smile, but at the same time she felt the dark, unpleasant stain of sadness.

It was a simple, sad fact that she was immortal. And not only that, but unlike Amelie or Emily, she flatly couldn’t die. Even the worst wound would merely cast her back into the timestream. She was untethered now, the technology to repair her accelerator long gone, and with that came detachment. She was not human any more. Not dead, but not alive, just, there. Forever. The loves of her life would, eventually, pass away, either from age in Emily’s case, or just from the wounds incurred in their line of work, but she would remain. Forever.

Swallowing, she buried her feelings. The future wasn’t important. She had plenty of it. What mattered now is that, after all of the pain, suffering and work to get here, she was sat on a beautiful beach, in France, with two women she loved, and who loved her back. And that was what kept her going. So now she had to go and make sure that they were both aware that their injuries didn’t change that. Honestly, they were both so incredibly insecure sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> So, hope you all enjoy! I'm not a huge fan of writing fight scenes, but I hope I did ok!


End file.
